AEROX'S AWESOME PICK A STORY THON
by Aerox
Summary: Multiple stories, bloody battles, one victor. Who will win in a grueling battle? It's up to you! Multiple first chapters chosen and the winner gets written. More entertaining than American Idols, that's for sure.
1. Chapter 1

**AEROX'S AWESOME PICK A STORY-THON**

* * *

Okay people, here's the deal. I've decided to do one more story in the Chuck fandom before hopefully going on to bigger things (aka, following in **ShinyJayne**'s footsteps) and the best part is, you people get to choose. Over the course of the following weeks, I'll be posting the first chapters of quite a few stories, as well as a global summary of them. And after I'm done, I'll throw up a poll and whatever story wins will be the one I'll do. Sounds fun? It doesn't? Hmm, that's unfortunate. Still! Also, I will still try and finish 78 times and IP, but the jury is still out on either one happening. Hope you people have fun.

Later tonight (in about an hour, maybe two) I will be posting the first chapter of the first story in this story. So keep your eyes peeled for this one saying chapter two or put it on story alert so you don't miss it ;)

Aerox


	2. Working title: Prison Love

**A/N**: I started this story a long time ago. Thus, some details never happened. Decker is still alive and still wants Chuck and Sarah's blood and there is no amnesia. Also, Carmichael Industries is flourishing as opposed to tanking, and they're still in the spy-biz. Furthermore, Chuck _wasn't_ Sarah's first solo-mission.

Note that I totally winged the court part. I have no clue how that stuff goes in real life.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Chuck, Castle or Prison Break. If I did own any of them, I'd probably be loaded. Although I don't know if that still goes for Chuck, they kind of had to tone down with regards to splashing around cash.

**Title**: Don't know yet  
**Pairing**: Chuck/Sarah, mentions of others probably  
**Rating**: T for swearing and mentions of violence (PROBABLY)  
**Summary**: When Sarah is thrown in jail for a crime she couldn't have possibly committed, it's up to Team Bartowski to bust her out so they can clear her name.**  
Genre: **Action/Adventure and Romance**  
Spoilers**: Through S04E24, Chuck vs. the Cliffhanger

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

"_When it comes right down to it, would you be willing to break her out of prison? Because that my boy, is true love._" Martha Rodgers

* * *

"God, I thought this day would never end," Sarah said as she languidly stretched out her feet over the couch. Chuck grabbed them and started massaging them. "Oh Chuck. That feels _soooo _good," she gasped.

Chuck smiled. "Anything for you, Mrs. Bartowski."

"You know, I figured that eventually hearing that name would stop being so damn exciting and yet, here we are, married for over a year and I still get all giddy."

"Really? It's the name? Are you sure it's not something else that we get… up to pretty much every night?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Sarah shuddered in delight. "It definitely helps." She pulled her feet away and sat up on all fours before slowly prowling her way over to Chuck. "How about we pull up our schedule just a smidge and start our nighttime activities now?" She followed up with a slight tug at Chuck's earlobe. Goosebumps started forming over his arms. "Hmm, seems like you're _rising_ to the occasion."

Chuck tried to speak but his mouth went dry. Instead, he stood up and grabbed Sarah's arm, tugging her up. She reveled in his aggressive yet sensual touch. He all but sprinted to their bedroom, Sarah in tow. He threw the door open and almost shoved Sarah inside. He ran in after her, closed the door and turned her, pressing her up against the door. He attacked her lips with a fiery passion. "You… know… how much… you… turn me on…" he whispered between kisses. Sarah moaned loudly. Chuck thanked his lucky stars that Morgan had moved out. It would've been awkward having to explain all the sounds that Sarah made in the privacy of their bedroom. Having said that, he had no interest in knowing what Morgan and Alex were up to either, so it worked both ways.

Sarah grabbed Chuck's wrist, knowing that while she loved her husband he wasn't always the fastest when it came to them and their extracurricular activities. If it was up to him, they'd keep necking for another ten minutes or so. Normally, she'd be more than okay with that, but she had other plans for now. They involved a more physical workout than just the muscles in their jaw, although the jaw muscle would still be used in what she had planned. She pushed him down to the bed and started diligently working on his shirt. He lifted his arms and she tossed the garment away. She reattached her lips to his as she started working on his pants.

* * *

The sun was casting its last rays on LA. Traffic was still bustling but the area around Echo Park was desolate, save for an occasional jogger. Thus, the soft sound of footsteps was audible throughout the silent courtyard. A SWAT squad silently walked past the fountains, their M4's at the ready. They walked to the front door of the apartment. The apartment looked dark, apart from the light in one of the windows. A muffled sound was coming from behind the window.

"Remember guys, there's a very real possibility that she's armed and dangerous. I want you to go in fast. We have to try and capture her alive, but if she goes for a gun you have authorization to use non-lethal shots."

"Uh, Sir?" an agent asked.

"What is it?"

"Come listen to this."

Rick Barnes (no relation to Jeffrey Barnes, notorious alcoholic) walked up to the window where the young agent was standing. He pressed his ear against the glass. He heard clear as day, the moans of a female, followed by the grunts of a male. He grinned.

"Alright people, our target is currently otherwise occupied. I want this done fast and by the book. We can't afford to let her slip on a technicality."

All the agents nodded and grabbed their tasers. All apart from one. "Sir, isn't this a bit much for just one woman?"

Rick sighed. "Son, what's your name?"

"Martinez, Sir."

"Let me put it to you like this. If we do not go in, the way we're about to, we're all going to end up in body bags. You're aware of what we're bringing her in for?"

"Yes Sir, armed robbery."

Rick nodded. "That's right. She's also a former CIA operative who holds the current records for kickboxing and marksmanship with both fire weapons and knives. So I expect full professionalism. I have no intentions of having to console grieving widows because of stupid mistakes. Is that clear?"

A chorused "Yes Sir," was whispered. Martinez however, scratched his head. "How do you know all that, Sir?"

Despite the full tactical gear and balaclava, the grin on Rick's face was obvious. "Connections, my boy. This particular gem of information has come straight from my good friend Clyde. I met him years ago when we were both in high school and we kept in touch. He went on to work for the CIA and I went to work for LAPD. Of course, I have no 'official' knowledge of who Sarah Bartowski or Clyde Decker are."

Martinez nodded and readjusted his grip on his M4. Things certainly got a lot more interesting now than simply taking in a housewife suspected of armed robbery.

The team walked up to the door in the common breach-and-clear pose. Rick held up three fingers, then two, then one. Just as the door was kicked in, they heard a woman shouting, "Oh Chuck!" followed by a moan.

They rushed inside the apartment and ran to the door where the sounds were coming from. They kicked it in. "LAPD, freeze! Put your hands in the air!"

The scene they walked into would've caused them to burst out in laughter, if the suspect wasn't so dangerous. The woman was lying on top of her husband, the sheet pulled over them. The man was blushing and the woman looked pissed. "What the hell is going on?" she shouted.

"Sarah Bartowski?" Rick asked.

The woman fixed her glare on him and he shuddered. She sure could look pissed. "You better have a damn good explanation as to why you're busting into our home. Ever heard of privacy?"

"Sarah Bartowski, you're under arrest for armed robbery."

"… Oh."

* * *

The bureau was buzzing. News of the arrest had broken and people were thrilled that a member of the crew that had pulled off arguably the biggest heist in the history of Los Angeles was finally caught. Everyone was thrilled, apart from one person.

"This is an outrage!" Chuck screamed. The officer winced at the volume.

"Sir, please calm down."

"How can I calm down when you've arrested my wife for something that she didn't do? Not only that, but it's a very serious accusation that you've just made. So tell me officer…" he squinted at the name tag, "Henderson. Why should I calm down?"

"Sir, please. We understand your frustration. But the fact of the matter is that we have evidence that refute your claim."

"Evidence? She was with me the entire day!"

"Sir, we've gotten conclusive evidence against her as well as an eyewitness that has identified her. I'm sorry."

Chuck sagged back in one of the chairs. He couldn't believe what was happening. Someone was setting Sarah up. Because on October the 28th, they were out on a mission. But he couldn't tell them, that. After all, they had been disavowed by the CIA and claiming that they were freelance spies who were essentially acting without the support from the government wouldn't really help their case. So someone was setting them up, but who?

Sarah had been in holding for a few hours. Ellie and Devon didn't know anything yet but he would have to tell them eventually. Casey knew and he also knew that someone had tried to set her up. After all, all three of them were out on a mission by the time that the crime was committed. So unless there was a Sarah from a parallel dimension, like in that weird sci-fi show on FOX, there was no way that Sarah could've done it.

He stood up and walked towards the holding cells. His heart broke when he saw Sarah sitting on the bench looking longingly at him. "Sarah… they say they have evidence. I can't believe this. You were with me the whole time."

She looked at him and Chuck almost laughed at the look that she was giving him. It was her look that was brimming with confidence. Even if she was the one in trouble, she still had the time to help him hold on to hope. "Don't worry baby, it'll probably end up being a misunderstanding. It'll be okay."

"I know," Chuck sighed. "It's just that I've gotten a real bad feeling about this."

"Relax, you've just been watching too much Star Wars."

He laughed. "Can you blame me? It's epic!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes, you've been saying that for a while now. I think we've seen it what, four, five times now?"

"Six. Four if you're counting the entire saga, six if you just count the original trilogy."

"Well there you go," she said triumphantly. "Now, go home, relax, and come visit me tomorrow, okay honey?"

Chuck sighed. "Fine. I still don't understand how you can be so damn calm about this."

Sarah shrugged. "I've been in tougher positions, really. And truth be told, it's kind of cozy in here. At least it's much more cozy than when I was imprisoned in Uganda."

"You were imprisoned in Uganda?" Chuck repeated, blinking for good measure. "What?"

"_I_ wasn't. Natalya Moskov was."

"But that was one of your aliases, right?"

"Right in one."

"So what happened?"

"Oh, let's just say that the Ugandans are still scratching their collective heads as to how the locks that supposedly couldn't be picked, were lying on the ground, along with the chains they had used to tie her up."

Chuck laughed. "I married a bad ass."

"And don't you forget it. Now go. Get your cute butt home and come see me tomorrow, okay?"

Chuck pressed his face against the bars, and his lips only just reached hers. She grabbed his hands and squeezed, the cool metal of her ring comfortably pressing in his hand. "Love you," he said.

"Love you too. See you tomorrow."

He walked back and Sarah slumped back in her cot. They'd see each other soon enough.

* * *

"...Our final witness would rather stay anonymous, due to the delicate nature of this trial and the fact that the defendant is a rather dangerous individual," Miguel Prado said, a smug grin on his face as he paced in front of the jury. The district attorney was smooth, Chuck had to give him that. He was impressive to watch, the way he had bended words, presented evidence in a compelling fashion and had wound the jury around his pinky finger.

He's be impressed, if it wasn't the life of his wife on the line.

After dragging in a laptop and establishing a webcam link with the witness, he or she provided people with a recount of what had supposedly happened on the day itself. Chuck was sure it was a lie, considering the fact that they were together and he couldn't remember sticking up a bank. There was that time in Macau of course, but he doubted that Macau had suddenly become a part of Los Angeles.

But he had already piped up a number of times through the trial and he was told in no uncertain terms that if he did again, he'd be held in contempt of the court. Of course that just sparked another cry of outrage, but before it could be vocalized, Sarah had shot him a withering glare, and he shut up. And now, the cross-examination had stopped and the jury had adjourned towards the back room, to discuss the case.

The door opened with a creak that was amplified throughout the silent courtroom, and the jury members shuffled back in. Chuck's heart sped up. Sarah wore a calm smile. How she could be so calm, he'd probably never know.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" the judge asked.

"Yes your honor, we have."

Chuck was sweating bullets. Things had gone all wrong. The evidence they had against her were staggering. Fingerprints, DNA, the whole shebang. And even though Chuck had been called as a witness, he felt that it hadn't done much good. Yes, she was home with him, but no he couldn't prove it. All they had was his word damn it.

"Based on the evidence presented to us today, we the jury, find the defendant Sarah Lisa Bartowski guilty of armed robbery."

The murmurs rose in intensity, but Chuck didn't hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. This had to be a mistake. He glanced over to Sarah, and he saw that her mask had slipped. Gone was the calm, collected woman that he knew and loved. Instead, shock was openly written on her face. Granted, she was still the woman he knew and loved, but this was all wrong. She should've been laughing, hugging him, telling him that she told him so.

"Order, order!" the judge demanded, while pounding his gavel. "Sarah Bartowski, this court has found you guilty of armed robbery. You will be sentenced to two years in prison."

"No," both Chuck and Sarah gasped.

* * *

**A/N: **So, that was the first chapter. I don't have a title for this one yet, but yeah, hope you enjoyed. Let me know in a review what you thought. I'll probably post a shortlist as a separate chapter so that way, I'll be able to have a title for this one.


	3. Chuck versus the List

******Title**: Chuck versus the List**  
****Pairing**: Depending on what road I'm taking, it can either be none or Chuck/Sarah**  
****Rating**: T for language, graphic violence (probably)**  
Genre: **Adventure/Drama/Angst**  
****Summary**: When Ellie is in danger from the two agencies that have sworn to protect her brother, it's up to Chuck to get her out of harms way. He's forced to forsake everyone else.******  
Spoilers**: Through S02E07, Chuck vs. the Fat Lady

**A/N: **Observant readers will notice that I'd already posted the first chapter of this one a long, long time ago. I'm putting it up for selection, only because there was some interest. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

Sarah idly tapped the pen against the cool metal of the table as she peered at the monitor, waiting for the names of Fulcrum members to pop up. The computer beeped and she wrote down yet another name. She glanced down at her legal pad and had to suppress a groan. Fulcrum was well established within the Intelligence community. It was a miracle that they hadn't won the war yet.

Her thoughts wandered to Chuck and his new-slash-old girlfriend, Jill Roberts. It had hurt her more than she was willing to admit when he so brusquely shoved her aside for his ex. Fine, so they weren't a _real_ couple but that didn't mean that she didn't have _real_ feelings. So maybe she wasn't as vocal as he was when it came to expressing them, but surely he could see the signs, right? After all, he had confronted her at Riordan Paine's loft about whether or not there was something under the cover.

Sarah shook her head to get rid of the unwanted mental pictures; the goofy smile when Chuck strode out of the hotel, the eagerness as he jumped at the chance to get back into something with Jill. It all served to infuriate her. A small, dormant part of her mind silently prayed for Jill to be on this list just so she would have a reason to bust down the door, drag the skank off of Chuck and slap the cuffs on her. Maybe she would throw in a punch for good measure. She sighed and continued tapping the pen. Chu... the asset was happy and that was what was important. The handler wasn't supposed to have feelings for her asset, and so on and so forth. The rules were clearly imprinted in her over at the Farm. And if she ever forgot, Casey was more than happy to oblige and remind her. Maybe it was better for all involved if she would create yet another barrier. No more, 'Hi Chuck,' but something more along the lines of, 'Good morning, asset.' Maybe she could tag on a serial number as well, just to rub it in that apparently everyone in the United States government took him for granted. She mentally scoffed. As if she could ever take her distance from him.

Speaking off Casey however, he was uncharacteristically quiet. She looked over and saw him with a stony gaze, fixed upon the monitor. The grumbles he let out were in quicker succession than normal. "Is everything alright, Casey?"

He grumbled something incoherent and Sarah shrugged. At least she had tried. She went back to minding her own business when she heard a small voice. Well, for John Casey, it was a small voice. "I can't believe how many turncoats this nation has."

Sarah could empathize. She'd already caught a few people with whom she had dealt before. Most of the time it was in an analytical position but that didn't soften the blow to know that your colleagues of one day could be your enemy the next. Such was the spy game though. "I know. I've seen a few people I've recognized as well."

"Damn bastards, the lot of them," he grunted. Sarah nodded, before the computer beeped again and she wrote down another name. Frank Boyle. Field agent for ten years, distinguished several times, now FULCRUM. She sighed. As much of a victory as this was, she couldn't help but shake the dreadful feeling of one day having to put a bullet into one of her fellow Agent's their brain.

The computer beeped again, but Sarah was still lost in her own little world. It wasn't until she heard a gruff, "Walker," that she looked up and felt her dormant side unleash a ferocious roar. She jumped up and grabbed her coat.

"I'm going to secure Chuck!" she shouted as she ran up the stairs. It took a few seconds, but a second pair of boots hitting the linoleum and she had to smile. Casey, in his own twisted and demented way, cared about Chuck as well.

The beep however, stopped him dead in his tracks. Sarah kept running up the stairs until the same name was used, with a completely different inflection. "Walker!" he shouted and it actually held a tinge of panic. John Casey _never_ panicked. It caused her to skid to a halt at the top of the stairs and she looked at what had him startled.

Peering back at her, were two very familiar brown eyes.

Sarah gasped. "Ellie!"


	4. Chuck's Hell's Kitchen

******Title**: Chuck's Hell...'s Kitchen.**  
****Pairing**: Chuck/Sarah, Ellie/Devon, mention of Chuck/Jill, Sarah/Shaw, Sarah/Bryce**  
****Rating**: T for swearing (LOTS of swearing. Whoever has ever seen Hell's Kitchen can concur), violence, minor sexual situations**  
****Summary**: A mission requires the team to face off in the toughest challenge anyone has ever faced. Hell's Kitchen and Gordon Ramsay.**  
Genre: **Humor/Parody******  
Spoilers**: Through S04E24, Chuck vs. the Cliffhanger  
**  
****A/N: **This story is the brainchild of one of the many crazy chat sessions I've had with ShinyJayne over the past few months. This one was conceived before Season 5 had started and I still think it's the funniest idea we've ever had. And honestly, the plot is nothing more than a reason to put them in one ridiculous situation after another. I had put this one as a story in progress on my profile, but never actually got around to finishing the prologue, but I've decided to crack it out for the story-a-thon. Hope you enjoy people (and trust me when I say that I definitely enjoyed myself writing this/thinking it up.)

* * *

**Prologue**

The freezer door slid open, revealing the entrance to Carmichael Industries' Castle and Chuck and Sarah Bartowski stepped through. They both looked like someone had kicked their puppy. Chuck stomped down the stairs, the metallic clang of his Chucks hitting the steps met with frigid silence. "Alright, does anyone mind explaining to me why the hell we get an urgent text at one in the morning after we've _just_ captured Sheik Al-Fayed? I was under the assumption that we had a couple of days off."

"What's the matter, moron? Got interrupted during your quality time?" Casey asked, trying to needle the nerd who also happened to be his employer. They had a weird relationship.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Actually, that's exactly what happened."

"Ugh…"

"I can see that ever since your ties with the government have faltered, so has your professionalism," the slightly metallic voice of General Diane Beckman came through the speakers.

"General… we weren't aware that it was you who asked for this meeting," Sarah said, saving the team a potentially embarrassing situation, as far as that wasn't already the case.

"And it certainly wasn't my intention to do so, Mrs. Bartowski. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. The government would like to officially hire Carmichael Industries."

Morgan stepped up. "As the Intersect and treasurer of Carmichael Industries, I'd like to first and foremost ask how much you are willing to pay."

The General scowled at Morgan, before focusing back on Chuck. She pressed a button and a young man of Middle Eastern descent appeared on the screen. He was roughly 6 foot 1 and had dark brown hair. "This is Achmed Yossoun or as he's known in America, Jeremy Walters. The United States fears that Achmed is using recipes of dishes as a way to sell nuclear secrets to the Iranian government. We would like to hire Carmichael Industries to infiltrate the restaurant as a chef and find out whether this is true. If it is true, I want you to take him into custody and stop the spreading of those secrets at any costs necessary."

"Why is the CIA not involved with this, ma'am?" Sarah asked.

"All of our operatives are currently on missions. It seems that the terrorists and whatnot are quite busy this time of year. That means that we have to outsource this mission. It is vital that this does not go wrong."

Chuck nodded. "Very well ma'am. Can you set us up for a cover as a chef?"

"Actually…" the General started, and Chuck's stomach fell. He had a bad feeling about what was to come next. "Due to the down economy that we are currently living in, the Ritz-Carlton cannot afford to hire someone. Especially because they've just signed on as the first prize for the popular game show 'Hell's Kitchen.'"

"So what do you want us to do, then?"

The General smiled. "The CIA has arranged for twelve people directly associated with Team Bartowski to be this season's contenders. We've managed to procure all fourteen slots and have filled them with the following people. Chuck and Sarah Bartowski, Ellie and Devon Woodcombe, Morgan Grimes, John Casey, Michael Tucker, Jeffrey Barnes, Lester Patel, Lou Palone, Bryce Larkin, Heather Chandler, Jill Roberts and Daniel Shaw. Please keep in mind that for the duration of the show, neither the Bartowski's nor the Woodcombe's can be seen as a married couple, as that goes against the rules. Yes, team?"

A collective of mouths fell open. "I'm sorry," Chuck started. "Daniel Shaw? The_ same _Daniel Shaw that tried to kill my wife? And I'm pretty sure that Bryce is six feet under."

"While agent Larkin was supposed to have died, we were able to resuscitate him. He went on a medical leave and has returned to active duty afterwards. And as for Shaw, while I'm not at all happy with the decision to release him, it comes from the top. The same goes for Heather Chandler and Jill Roberts. They have been given deals that say that if they help cracking this case, the CIA will give them new cover identities and help them live a comfortable, if heavily controlled, life in freedom. However, if any of them makes an attempt on any of your lives, you are allowed to terminate them."

Sarah was grinning. Sure, she had to face two ex lovers of Chuck, but it was his ring on her finger. This would be the perfect time to gloat about it. Oh sure, Shaw would be there, but she could handle him. If push came to shove, she'd just kill the twisted son of a bitch and make it look like an accident. She'd just have to make sure that Chuck wouldn't freak out. But she had her methods for that. And she really liked those methods. She leaned over to Chuck. "Don't worry baby, Shaw won't touch me. And if he comes too close for my comfort, he'll end up with a knife stuck in his forehead."

Chuck nodded, before looking back at the General. "General, Lou Palone is an accomplished member of the food industry. How are we supposed to win?" he asked. Casey grunted along.

"You're spies. I'm sure you can find a way to make it… harder, for Miss Palone to win."

Chuck sighed. "Very well. I can't believe I'm about to say this, but… we accept."

The General grinned, causing four sets of confused looks to be directed to the monitor. "Excellent. I'll see to it that you get all the necessary documents as soon as possible." She stabbed at a button and her face disappeared from the screen. Sarah bounced up.

"What's gotten you into a hurry?" Chuck asked, unsure as to why Sarah would be in a good mood. She had to deal with Lou and Jill and he had to deal with Bryce and… Shaw. He swore that if that asshole even came as close as giving her a handshake he would end that bastard's life… again. And he wasn't too sure about Bryce either. Although Sarah had already made it painfully clear to Bryce at Ellie's wedding that she wasn't going to come with him, he still couldn't quite get over the fact that she was with him.

He mentally slapped himself, before getting a real one from Sarah. "Ow, what was that for?" he asked, while rubbing the sore spot.

"That's what you get for questioning whether or not I have feelings for you. We're married! M-A-R-R-I-E-D. There's nothing that Bryce or even… Shaw…" she shuddered, "could do to ever get me to go away from you. Face it, Chuck. You're stuck with me for the rest of your life."

Chuck happily sighed, which caused Sarah's face to break into a grin. "Now let's go home!" she cheerfully said.

"Boy, you're in a good mood. Does that mean you want to pick things up where we left them?" he said, while dropping the infamous and very effective Bartowski eyebrow dance on her.

She giggled. "No thank you," she said. "We've got to study recipes!" She turned around and almost skipped out of Castle. Chuck had never seen her so giddy. He shrugged and ran after her, before giving her a playful smack on her behind. Sarah giggled again and ran after him.

Casey and Morgan stood rooted to their spots. "Do you think that they simply forget we exist when they're around each other?" Morgan asked. Casey gave an acquiescing grunt. "Yeah, I thought so." He turned and started walking to the freezer.

"Where are you going, moron?" Casey asked.

Morgan shrugged. "Getting you cookbooks."

"And what about you?"

Morgan tapped his temple. "I've got this thing up here, remember?"

Casey sighed. He really hated this assignment.

* * *

The realization hit them halfway through the parking lot.

"What about Ellie?" they both said at the same time. It was kind of freaky how they could be so in sync, but anyone that spent more than two days in the vicinity simply accepted it at face value. Chuck and Sarah Bartowski could read each others' minds.

"We're going to have to tell her that she'll have to work with the woman who broke your heart and the guy who tried to kill me and you… and killed her dad."

"And she'll have to work with Jeff and Lester," Chuck added.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes and she'll have to work with Jeff and Lester. Seriously though, I'm sure that Jill and Daniel are more than enough."

Chuck nodded. "True. But Sarah, I've got faith in you. I'll tell her what I know to be true. My kickass ninja spy girl… excuse me, my kickass ninja spy wife will make sure that not only will Shaw or Jill get even close to us but that even if by a stroke of luck they do; they'll end up with a knife sticking out of an orifice. So I'm really not all that worried."

It shouldn't have had any effect on her. After all, they had been together for more than five years, officially together for more than two years and married for over four months. But still, when he called her that it just brought back so many memories. So many missed moments and so many moments that they did get to experience together. Sarah thought she would liquefy and melt into Chuck.

Chuck grinned and enveloped her in an embrace. Despite the fact that Sarah had her Lotus, they had decided to buy another car, this time with an automatic gearshift. With the eye on their future, they had opted for a minivan. After some seriously awesome coaxing from Devon, they too bought a Toyota Sienna. The reason for the change in gearshift however, was purely self-centered. One of the things that Chuck and Sarah held sacred, mainly because they couldn't do it for two long years even though they both desperately wanted to, was holding hands. So now, whenever they could, they would link up and revel in the simplest form of intimacy. And now that practice was included in driving.

The drive over to Ellie's apartment was fast, much faster than Chuck really wanted it to be. Yes, he had absolute faith in Sarah that she would make sure that nothing would happen to them. And if worse came to wear, they could always throw Morgan in the fray. He loved doing Kung Fu with the Intersect. And Chuck wouldn't have any problem killing that son of a bitch Daniel Shaw if he even as much as looked at Sarah the wrong way. Still, telling Ellie trumped all the fears that he had. He never enjoyed being scolded by her or even having her raise her voice. Being there when telling her was a guaranteed way for Chuck to be exposed to the Ellie bomb when it would inevitably go off.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked as they rolled into a parking spot, and she turned the key to switch off the ignition.

"Just... nervous I guess. Yeah, nervous is probably the best word. Why aren't you nervous? Not that you have to be nervous, of course, but the last time you sweat, Clara was involved and Ellie is a lot scarier than Clara and I think I'm going to shut up now if you don't mind."

"Chuck, trust me. You'll be fine. And if things get tough, you can always hide behind me again. I'll protect you," she smirked.

"I'll have you know that the man clearly intended to harm me."

"Chuck, he was a salesman. The only thing he had any intention of, was walking away with your signature on some kind of silly contract."

Sensing that the battle was already lost—long before it had started, really—he sighed. "Okay, well, let's just get this over with."

They clambered out of the vehicle and walked over to the apartment. Ellie greeted them at the door with a hug. "Hey you two. What can I do for you?"

"Ellie, we need to talk. It's about work," Chuck said. Ellie moved aside and let them in and he immediately ran for the sofa. Sarah smiled at her host/sister, before sitting next to him.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Ellie asked, ever the hostess.

"No, no, that's fine. I just want to get this over with as soon as possible. Sit down please."

Ellie sat down on a chair next to Devon who hadn't said a word since Chuck had barged in. He silently regarded the couple in front of him, while continuing his workout on the elliptical machine. "Chuck, are you okay? You look kind of pale. Are you sick?"

"He's fine, Ellie. He's just nervous," Sarah jumped in.

"Right. And this stalling isn't doing them any favors, so I'll just jump in. Ellie, Devon... the United States need you."

"Like, medical consults? Don't they have their own doctors for that? What would the CIA do with a cardiothoracic surgeon and a neurologist?" Ellie questioned.

"Uh... not quite like that. Actually, the United States needs your... uh... your culinary skills."

Ellie burst out laughing. "You're kidding right... right? Oh, wow, you're totally not kidding."

"Yeah, I'll just give you the short version. Wacky terrorist is selling nuclear plans to bad country in the form of recipes. We need to find proof and take him down. And to do that, we're going on Hell's Kitchen to win the first prize and get our in through that."

"What's... Hell's Kitchen?"

Sarah chimed in. "A game-show. Angry British chef scolding people for an hour while they slave over the stove."

"That was... awfully specific sweetheart. Have you watched it?"

She shrugged. "I don't have a cover job anymore. And being the owner of a failing retail store hardly constitutes me going in every day. So I just zap around and I caught it one day. Seeing as how I don't want to live on take-out for the rest of my life, and your prowess in the kitchen ends with chicken pepperoni, I thought I could learn something. I probably can, just not from that show."

"Wait, wait, wait. So you want me and Devon to join you guys in that show. What's the problem?"

"Tell them, Chuck."

"Well... there may be some other contestants who we have uh... a history with."

"Let me guess, Bryce, Jill, Shaw, Jeff and Lester."

"Uh... yeah, you got it in one."

"Of course I did and I want you to... WAIT WHAT?"

"Well, you guessed it so..."

"I was _kidding,_ Chuck. What the hell? Shaw is a murderer damn it! He killed our dad! Bryce is _dead!_ Jill is in prison! How can they possibly participate?"

"Because... the government sort of struck a deal with them."

"That's not awesome, Chuck," Devon piped in.

"I know guys, I know. Look, I already told Beckman that there was no chance that I was going to work with Shaw or Jill, but the problem is that she can't do much about it either. This comes from the President himself... I think." Ellie muttered a few obscenities while cradling her head in the heels of her hands. "So is that a yes?"

"What about our work?" Devon asked.

"The government will take care of that," Sarah replied. "Look, we understand that we're asking a lot of you, but our hands are tied as well. We've gotten the green light on taking down anyone who even so much as stares at us in a wrong way, so we will protect you. But the truth is, this is more or less a notification, rather than a question really. So, pack your bags, we're going to Hollywood," she finished with a weak grin.

"Fine," she huffed. "We'll do it. But please just... Devon and I need to discuss some things."

"Of course," she said as she stood up and grabbed Chuck's arm, who looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "We'll leave you to it. Good night. Oh, and we're really sorry."

Chuck all but ran out of the room and didn't calm down until he was safely back in his apartment. Sarah locked the door and walked to the kitchen. She came back with two glasses and a bottle of wine. As she uncorked it, she looked over her shoulder. Chuck was watching her, still dazed. "Well, that went better than expected," she smirked. She handed a glass to Chuck, before walking to their bedroom and returning with a chain.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as the aroma of the wine had seemingly pulled him out of his own little world.

"Well, considering the rules, I figured I'd keep my rings in a safe place. Close to the heart, so to say." She looped the rings through the chain and handed it to Chuck. "If you would be so kind." She moved her hair away and Chuck, not missing a beat, put his glass down before taking the proffered chain and latching it for her. The rings settled over her chest and she grabbed her wine and sank into the couch.

"So what do we do now?" Chuck asked.

"Now," she responded with a gleam in her eye. "Now, we talk recipes."


	5. SherlockChuck crossover

******Title**: Untitled Sherlock-Chuck crossover**  
****Pairing**: Chuck/Sarah. Non romantic pairings include Sherlock with everyone, because he's a boss. **  
****Rating**: T for 'splosions. That's all that I have at the moment. Swearing will probably enter at one point or the other. Death as well.**  
****Summary**: At wits end, Chuck contacts the one person who would possibly be able to help the United States from a maniacal terrorist******  
Genre: **Action/Adventure/Romance maybe some hurt/comfort if I feel like it. Humor too, but in lower doses******  
Spoilers**: Through S05E13, Chuck vs the Goodbye and S02E03, The Reichenbach Falls

**A/N**: Okay, this requires a bit of an explanation. The following chapter is the prologue to an as of yet unnamed story. It deals with Sherlock and Watson. Chuck and Sarah would make an appearance in the first chapter. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

"John," the energetic man chirped, while snapping his fingers. "Come quickly."

Dr. John Watson hoisted himself out of the comfortable chair with a groan. They had an interesting relationship, him and Sherlock Holmes. After all, he was the one who had been appointed to keep the brilliant detective somewhat sane and grounded. You could've likened it to a dog and its master. Except in this case, the master would often have no say in any matter and simply followed the dog along as it pulled against its leash, snarling and eager to explore.

He walked over the plush carpet and settled behind the chair that Sherlock had seated himself in, oddly similar to the one he had been occupying just moments before. Of course, the entire room had an uncanny form of symmetry to it, but Watson simply shrugged that off. Sherlock Holmes was an eccentric flat-mate and over the years, Watson had learned to simply go with the tidal wave that he undoubtedly was.

"And, pray tell me, what exactly am I looking at?" he asked, in a flat voice.

Sherlock clapped his hands together in an exuberant fashion. "Our new case," he said through the little slit that his hands had formed.

John looked at the laptop and frowned. "Sherlock... that's... my blog page."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "Stellar deduction, my dear Watson. But no, it's not actually your 'blog' page. It's the comments section."

Watson skimmed the page. They were the comments of the case that John had dubbed, 'The Final Problem.' Moriarty had lured Sherlock to the roof of the hospital and it had ended with Sherlock jumping from the roof of the building, giving off the impression that he had killed himself, all to save his friends. Jim Moriarty was dead, killed by a gunshot to the head, but the details were fuzzy. After all, the only thing that John had to go on was Sherlock's explanation of the facts and while the man had always been forthright, there was an air of cockiness around him. His leap from the building hadn't done anything to temper that, nor the six months of absence.

Of course, this was eclipsed by the air of reverence Sherlock held for the late consulting criminal. Sherlock Holmes was definitely an odd man.

John remembered finding Sherlock. He had done the groceries for Mrs. Hudson, the old lady was stricken with grief, even six months after the moment where Sherlock Holmes' life had apparently ended. It was only through pure luck that John had recognized him on the street corner; a part of Sherlock's adhesive lost its grip and the beard fell, and after an impressive punch to the jaw—apparently the field medics had quite a good grasp on the human anatomy after all—Sherlock had explained everything. The situation between the two of them was tense for a while, but eventually simmered down, until a week ago, where John had finally been able to overlook the grief that had torn him apart, and peace had returned to 221b Baker Street.

John scanned through the comments but nothing stood out to him that could have caused this reaction in Sherlock. Maybe the gas from Baskerville had manifested itself in Sherlock's brain again. "Sherlock. Two things. First, these are just the usual comments. I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Secondly, the last time you took 'a case' it ended up with me having to identify your 'remains' surrounded by terrified onlookers. What in God's name are you thinking, trying to get another case already?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm bored, John. Would you rather I shoot up the walls some more? I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson would be more than happy to add the repair costs to your rent."

"_Our_ rent," he not so subtly corrected him.

Sherlock waved it away. "Semantics, my dear Watson. Semantics. Either way, look here." He pointed to a comment by someone with the username C-Squared. It was a vague comment on how awed the reader was by their adventures and how he could really use their help. He would get in touch with them to see if they were available and then, if they were, rent them to solve a case for Carmichael Industries. "Pack your bag John, we're going to L.A."

"What tipped you off on where this person was from? Was it the way the writer used their comma placements? Or was it the username that could've only originated from Los Angeles because it's a poplar sign over there?" John asked, the sarcasm rather thick. The ability of his friend to dissect information was legendary and brilliant, but there was literally nothing the man could've gained from just those three sentences and a username.

Sherlock blinked. "Actually, no. I simply traced his IP address."

"Oh..." John replied. "That's awfully... simplistic of you."

Sherlock grinned. "Not everything has to be deduced, John. Sometimes, common sense is the greatest gift."

"So then, why are we going to Los Angeles?"

"Because I'm bored and this gentleman offered."

"And how... do you know it's a gentleman?"

Sherlock's eyes sparkled, just as they so often did when he was about to patiently explain his deductions to the lesser fortunate, whose brains simply couldn't keep up. Or in layman's terms, everyone who _wasn't_ Sherlock Holmes. "Well, as you can see here, how this person uses the word awed. He only uses this in reference to the various action scenes which you have written about, which by the way are ridiculously over exaggerated, which is a common thing for a male to do. Violence interests the males, relationships interest the females. Along with the fact that according to a poll that you've held a month ago, showed that the overwhelming majority of your readership is male.

Not only that but this person offered to rent us. That includes travel costs, John. So obviously, this person has in his possession, a rather large sum of money. That means that he is either rich, or in a fortuitous position at a company. Considering the fact that he's hiring us for the company, it's an almost foregone conclusion that it's the latter. Women don't often get into the positions necessary to generate the amount of money that this man is clearly willing to spend. That leads me to be near certain that our potential client is a man."

"Okay," John hesitantly agreed. "But why take this case? He hasn't even said anything about a case yet."

Sherlock shrugged. "We're closing in on our monthly payment and so far, I've got no sustainable income. Plus, England just does _not_ have any sun. The way I see it, we can go on a paid vacation, get some colour on our skin and when we get back, we'll have enough money to pay our fee to Mrs. Hudson. Plus, it'll finally get rid of my boredom."

"You've been living on the streets, relying on your wit for the past six months! How can you already be bored?"

"Because there is no rest for the wicked, John. Now, let's see. Reply to... 'Yes, I am very interested in your case. Please get in touch on the following email address... and... send. Now, what do you say we go for a nice dinner. Remember that restaurant that we were at for our Study in Pink? We've never actually had the chance to taste their food... well, you haven't. What do you say? My treat?" John sighed. It wasn't like he had a choice or, even better, a say in the matter. Sherlock had promised to get the groceries and as always, he found this little nugget of information too much of a chore to remember and had replaced it with something else. Probably something like the geometry of the Terracotta army. "Excellent," Sherlock exclaimed when John hadn't made an attempt to refute his question. He stood up and grabbed his coat. "Mrs. Hudson!" he cried. "We won't be needing supper. We're going out."

John heard a faint voice cry, "I'm not your bloody housekeeper," and suppressed a grin.

* * *

Heathrow was bustling. Well, that was an understatement, John thought. Considering its size, Heathrow was always busy, but it looked like somehow, every person in London and the near vicinity had decided to fly through Heathrow.

"D'you reckon they've closed down Stansted, Luton and Gatwick or something?" John asked as they were waiting to go through airport security. "This is rather... ridiculous won't you agree?"

"Hmm, I wouldn't say so, no. It seems like the crowd is centering around something. Let's go see what's going on, shall we?" Sherlock started pushing through the crowd, trying to reach the center of the commotion. He nimbly dodged elbows and masses of bodies and John followed him, staying right behind the consulting detective.

In the center of the circle of bodies, stood a police officer with a megaphone. "…Due to the threat, all flights are temporarily suspended, until the validity of the tip can be verified. We apologize for the inconvenience."

A loud ruckus rose up from the group, as people scattered, most of them muttering in disbelief. Sherlock however, didn't move. The man was enamoured with anything crime related, and the word 'threat' was a sure-fire way of grabbing his attention. He loudly cleared his throat. "Excuse me sir. You spoke about a threat?"

"Yeah," the officer said as he turned around. "Some knob called in a threat about a possible terrorist attack and... well, I'll be damned. Sherlock Holmes. It's an honour, sir."

"I see that my reputation precedes me," Sherlock grinned as he shot a look in John's direction while shifting on the balls of his feet. He squinted in the officer's direction and locked eyes with the man's nameplate. "Now, officer Phillips, what kind of terrorist attack are we talking about? Suicide bombing? A full out assault? Or maybe a gas attack. Hmm, a gas attack, I haven't seen that one in ages. Never had to solve one of those either. Such an effective way to attack. Although I doubt that it'd be a viable attack on Heathrow, considering the difficulties of reaching any of the ventilation shafts."

Officer Phillips, an officer who was on the heavy side of the healthy spectrum but still looked like he could've enjoyed a good career in rugby, squinted at John. "What's he doing?"

John shrugged. "Running hypotheses. He does this a lot. You get used to it."

"Right," Phillips drawled. "Well, anyway, Mister Holmes, the threat mentioned an explosive device as primary attack weapon."

"Interesting. Well then, we'll let you do your job. Good day." Sherlock nodded towards the man, before striding off towards their gate. John ran behind him, and quickly caught up.

"Sherlock, aren't you supposed to help them find the bomb?"

"John, thereis no bomb."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because we're not dead yet. What's the main point of a terrorist attack?"

"Fear?"

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "Fear is the main point. Fear, brought on by casualties. Why not call in an attack and then blow up the bomb when there is widespread panic? You'd get a nice carry-on effect of people trampling each other as they try and run away. But rather, the call came, the information filtered through and the panic wasn't exasperated by an explosion. It's fine, John."

"That's very perceptive of you," a new voice said. Sherlock turned to the man. He stood straight, dressed in a charcoal business suit, slicked back hair, suitcase in hand. Two scars ran along his face from the lips curved upwards, offering a grotesque visage. "It's okay, you can look," the man sighed. "I know, they're hideous." His accent was distinctly American and he seemed to stop mid-sentence to take deep gulps of air.

"There are creams you could use," John offered.

The man waved it away. "I got used to the stares. But, as I was saying, it's an interesting look at things."

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't look at things, I _observe_ them."

"All the same," the man said, shooting John a small smile. It made him look even creepier. "Oh well, here's hoping you're right." He took off, and Sherlock resumed walking to their designated gate.

Thirty minutes later, the all clear was given by the police, and slowly but surely, air traffic resumed its normal pace. Sherlock had stopped talking all together, much preferring to stick to the solace of his own mind. John had figured something like this would happen and had brought his laptop to continue working. Sherlock often had the tendency to alternate between moods. Sometimes he was talkative, bordering on normal even. Other times he preferred to keep to himself. That was fine with John. He liked the peace and quiet. It helped him relax. It helped him in dealing with Afghanistan.

The PA buzzed and announced that the plane to Los Angeles was ready for boarding. Sherlock opened his eyes and shot a brief smile towards John. "Well doctor Watson, it's time to go."

John closed his book and stood up, grabbing his carry-on luggage and passport. "Right behind you, dear friend." The smile on Sherlock's face became a bit more genuine as they strolled towards the counter.

An hour later, they took off. Three hours later, eight carefully placed high explosives exploded in Heathrow Airport.

* * *

**A/N2: **I had a few other ideas, but I'm content with the list as it is, so I'll be posting the poll to my profile later today. Thanks for reading yo!


	6. Update

One week until the poll closes, people! Make it count.

(for clarification, the poll closes on Wednesday the 6th of June, whenever the hell I decide to wake up. I'm guesstimating this to be around 13:00 GMT+1, which is 07:00 (or 7 AM) East Coast for all you Americans :) )


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